


Don't Play With Fire

by Dara999



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 07:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18774037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dara999/pseuds/Dara999
Summary: A drabble written before new reign, focused on everyone's favourite fire-starter.





	Don't Play With Fire

**Author's Note:**

> This was written YEARS AGO. I'm busy with university at the moment and still want to upload; so have this.

_How long has it been? Two weeks? Three weeks? Time is as fucked up as everything else here, so really who gives a damn. All that matters is the stupid survival shit, I wonder if it's really worth it though. I just wish I had some self control, but I just can't help myself... If only-_

"Willow, if you're not going to stoke the fire give me the logs."

"Oh sorry." Willow lent forward and tended to the dying flames of the campfire. She cursed at herself for not focusing. There were three people sitting around the fire and if it went out because of her stupidity then they would all die. Willow was thankful Wendy had snapped her out of her thoughts, if she couldn’t control her actions then she had to at least keep a hold on her musings. Wendy was probably the smartest out of them really, without him of course... She wasn't experienced but her head was screwed on properly and she was focused, for a kid anyway. Wendy was only around twelve, thirteen maybe. For such a young girl she could make some rather macabre comments, Willow just guessed that’s just how Wendy coped with her twin's death. Abigail was her sister's name and she also was a ghost. Willow had no clue how the ghost thing worked but she wished she did, she could bring Wilson back. Wes was the other person with them. He was a mime but he was also a mute (fitting), even with the threat of death he never made a sound. No screams of pain, fear or joy. Silence. He was nice enough though, shame good people got stuck in this hell hole. _Shame good people died in this hell hole_. Willow stared at the flickering flames; a feeling of comfort washed over her. She did love the fire, it had saved her so many times. It was never its fault when someone was hurt; fire just did what fire does. It was usually her fault though, she was usually the one who brought it to life.

By late morning the group unloaded at their base camp . There was some order to their little camp, albeit messy. There was a fire pit in the center, chests to once side, tents next to that, a crock pot by the fire, drying racks to the side, farms near that and some machinery on the other side of the fire. Things Wilson had made. A sigh escaped her lips and she found herself gazing at the tents. One for each person, Willow had built them with her girl scouts knowledge, she was probably the most experienced here before actually living there. It was nice to have at least a little privacy in this open area, granted it wasn’t much. There were four tents, the extra one had been undisturbed for a while now, perhaps she should clean it a little... Before thinking she was already inside, it was just as she left it. When Wilson died, Willow took all his things into his tent and left them there. There were papers with notes and drawings, his shaving razor, the roll he slept on, his clothes and some flowers. The flowers were her addition, a sentimental thing. She hated the thought of creepy crawlies going through the remains of his body, she liked the remains of what he was, his work and items. They had cremated him, or well, she did. His tent was just a little nicer to visit than a grave... The flowers she had left were rotted now; she'd have to pick new ones.

Willow jumped as a hand touched her shoulder. She spun, going to hit the assailant, only stopping herself as she saw Wes raise his hands in defense.

"Holy shit Wes don't sneak up on me like that." Wes could only offer an apologetic smile in response. "Don’t worry about it. Need me for anything?" He shook his head and then squatted down, placing flowers on the ground. He had already thought of flowers or maybe they were for her, didn't matter really. Wes gave Willow a comforting smile and a brief hug. Willow found words getting caught in her throat as her eyes threatened to water, how could something so simple bring her to tears? She gave him a squeeze back and looked at the ground, trying to hide her teary face. Willow had no idea if she was doing a good job at that however, she couldn't exactly tell. He let her go and rubbed her shoulder, taking his leave afterwards. A few moments after Wes left all the energy in Willow's legs left and her knees hit the floor. She took shaky shallow breaths and covered her eyes, squeezing them shut tightly, as if she was trying to stop an overflowing dam. Oh god she missed Wilson. She missed him so much. Willow had held back the tears as much as she could. She felt flat and empty. Her cheeks were wet, nose sniffly and eyes red. She couldn’t cry, she needed to keep it together. She needed to have her head focused. She needed to survive for Wilson, to find a way out of this fucking hell hole.

 

That night Willow felt herself being drawn back towards Wilson's tent. Why couldn't she just ignore it, it's not like there was anything new waiting for her there. She sat with his belongings, trying to forget painful memories and trying not to forget his details at the same time. She picked up the tattered remains of his clothing and a few memories fluttered through her mind. She remembered having to take his vest and shirt off for a wound and dressing it so it wouldn't get infected. She remembered doing the same thing for something a little more intimate. His clothes still smelt like him. It was an odd scent to describe and she missed it. It was almost dusty, but not dirty, smoke from the campfire smothered within. She missed burying her face into his coal black hair or resting against his sweet sweat covered body, being encased by Wilson with all her senses. "I'm so sorry Wilson..." She loosely hung his shirt and vest over her. The closest thing she could get to a hug from her late lover. Tears streamed down her face, sobs trying to escape her throat. "I miss you so much..." His scent filled Willow with a bittersweet feeling. Memories of all kinds filled her mind, from arguments to flushed blurs of ecstasy. She remembered his death and the guilt that followed.

 

It was winter and the MacTusks were after the group, the barks of ice hounds hot on their heels. Everybody was starting to split up, trying to lose the bastards. Willow was luring the hounds to the forest so she could light the bastards up and burn ‘em death, she just didn't know how close Wilson was. She heard Wilson scream amongst the howls of the hounds and panic filled her being. She ran towards the sounds and came faced with writhing figures and the smell of burning flesh and fur. She cried his name and searched the burning forest for him. Wilson was on the ground, covered head to toe in severe burns, hound bite marks evident on his limbs. _She could see bone._ God it wasn't pretty and there was a horrible smell, one that still lingered with Willow wherever she went, haunting her. Willow didn't want to touch him, knowing how painful burns of this severity could be. If only she had checked where people were going and told them her plan. She just couldn’t help herself, starting a fire had to be her answer for everything and now Wilson was hurt.

"Wilson please say something to me!" His eyes were looking at her, tears were there. Oh god what had she done.

Wilson didn't survive to see the next sunrise. Willow felt nothing but regret and sadness for days. Emotions she hated more than a rain storm or Maxwell or the snow. She felt heavy and hollow, thoughts all scattered, intangible; like a thick cloud of smoke from a raging blaze. Willow just forced herself to push on, dead people were dead, that was that. It wasn't the first time someone she loved had vanished from her life; granted she was young when it first happened. She had to keep going for Wes and Wendy. To carry the legacy of the dead, so that all they did wasn't for nothing. Even if it hurt to carry on. She held her emotions in and pushed forward for the living. Wilson had saved Wes, no point in giving up and letting that go to waste, or Wilson’s creations, or his work to try and find a way home.

She remembered when Wilson brought Wes back to camp, retelling dangers of the door. Its was very selfless of Wilson to save Wes from whatever trap Maxwell had left Wes in. You could see the respect and admiration Wes had for Wilson, what he couldn’t say he displayed through action. Wilson had also said Maxwell tried to bargain with him in the door, to stop him from continuing. Wiping her face with her sleeve Willow stood, filled with a sense of determination. She was going to find Maxwell and demand for Wilson back, a deal with the devil... Whatever he was going to bargain for would be worth it...


End file.
